Tides of the Moon
by Morgana Maeve
Summary: Axel.Demyx::Edited Lemon: And he asks, "Do you think there are tides on the moon?"


Tides of the Moon

Morgana Maeve

8/9/08 – Axel/Demyx. This is my alternate OTP.

Warnings: PWP. Axel on Demyx. Explicit. (Edited on FanFiction; go to profile for link to sordidness.)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used here. They all belong to Square and Disney.

:-o-O-o-:

The tides of the moon come and go, and Demyx feels the water within him slosh. He is filled to the brim, bloated and swollen, and all it takes is one more drop before he overflows. His sitar lies in the corner, forgotten and useless, and he sits atop buildings in this strange world of desert heat and sand.

It is funny that he should feel so soaked in a world so dry, but it is the tides that govern him, and they are strange gods of irony and opposites that do not follow the rules of normalcy.

He is of such delicate constitution, body strong and hale, mind an interesting place of music and words, but the water that gives him life is such a fickle creature. It cannot stand the cold for too long, for it will freeze and leave him lethargic and lazy, and it cannot stand the underground for too long, for it will turn dank and murky and leave him feeling musty and moldy on the outside.

And so, he trails the worlds and hopes for the best, and the water slowly collects.

Tonight his fingers are clumsy, too slick and wet to play, and the music has drowned in stillborn youth within him. His water clones refuse to comply with his wishes, melting into web blobs that wriggle unbecomingly whenever he calls for them. The indigo sand soaks them up as quickly as he makes them, but he is still too full.

The moon is a waxing gibbous, the kind that Saïx hates almost as much as the full, but Demyx finds it comforting that there is a chance that the moon is as uncomfortable as he is, slowly filling up until it spills over in silvery light, waning away the very next night until it is a black circle in the sky. The water continues to slosh, waves breaking against his chest, his heartbeat when the tide comes in.

He leans back and wishes Axel were here, and then ponders why he would wish such a thing. Axel is attractive, of course, in a dangerous sort of way, but there is no interest between them. Demyx cannot remember a time where he and Axel ever worked together.

Demyx finally decides that his wish was born of the fact that Axel is fire, the red heat that turns water to cloudy steam. It is a rather romantic notion, and fed by moonlight, it turns into a fantasy that becomes a dream.

In this dream, Demyx is the water, fathomless pool in the middle of a forest, weeping willows dipping their branches daintily onto the surface as a petite maiden would her foot. Soft and waxy water lilies float, anchored only by their thin networks of roots, and tiny fish swim between, tickling scales and gills.

He is cool and clear and rippled, tasting fresh and sweet, sparkling dew that falls from blades of grass. He is the rain that patters into the musky depression, collecting and gathering until it is full of life, diamond droplets tossed into the air by heavy dragonflies.

Flowing and free, governed only by the moon, he is alive and pulsing, feeling all the life teeming within his waters, and he could shout for joy, bubbles floating to the surface, because this is what it's like to live.

The tenor of the dream changes a bit, red flowers blooming in sparks all across the shoreline, and Demyx feels pleasantly warm, fuzzy clouds gathering above the pool. The scent of these flowers is overwhelming, burnt cinnamon leaking from their openings, nectar a steady drip of gold into the water, sticky coating that feels like a second skin. Their pollen is dusty yellow, falling in shimmering bursts to coat red petals. Leaves reach out and unfurl, a combination of green and blue that look like little pieces of the sea.

And Demyx basks in all of this, swirling around in happiness, fish and plants caught up in his revelry, dancing around his non-corporal body.

He doesn't know when Axel appears, just that he does, feet sinking slowly into the water, body naked and dry, cracked skin parched and crumbling. He slips in and plummets, plummets down, down into the depths, and there is Demyx, wrapping Axel in his protective arms, shielding him from a descent that leads nowhere.

Quietly, they float back to the surface, and Demyx enters him through all the cracks and holes, filling him from the outside in, healing waters soothing all the burns and crinkled wounds he can find. He cocoons Axel in his liquid embrace, moisture penetrating and livening.

And that is when Axel wakes up, eyes open but not surprised, long legs and arms treading the still waters as Demyx withdraws, soft undercurrent beneath the soles of his feet. He couldn't have seen, but he knows, and he smiles, holding his arms out.

And still Demyx hesitates, waters slightly agitated, water lilies bobbing in sympathy. Axel's arms never waver.

Demyx surfaces slowly, water forming bumps and ridges that rise and dip and fall and slowly become his shape. For a minute, he is still clear, and he sees everything through a watery sheen the blurs and distorts and cascades in melting colors.

Then he is there, solid from the waist up, chest gleaming wetly in the lurid light of the flowers, droplets clinging to his hair. He himself cannot tell where his body begins and where the water ends. It is a seamless transition, beautiful and unnerving.

Shyly, he moves without using legs or feet or flippers, water carrying him to Axel's warm body, where he is received with embrace and whispered entreaties in his ear. Heat spreads from where Axel's lips graze to the entire pool, and it blazons as teeth replace mouth, sharp pressure on thin flesh, bites hard enough to leave bruises.

His mouth strays, journeys down to neck and throat, tongue licking and lapping, egged on by subtle moans and groans, vibrations under the skin. Moist lips on rapidly heating skin, forming words with nothing meanings, tongue just beneath them, sliding down tendons and cords, teeth closing wonderfully on skin, pulling and tugging lightly, myriad sensations running down Demyx's spine. It is like electricity spreading through a puddle, unseen but so verily, verily felt.

Steam begins to curl over the pool.

Axel knows what he is doing, tasting and testing, tongue pressing with the barest of pressure on the little triangle of supple skin at Demyx's collarbone. Demyx sweats and gasps, arms sliding from water and wrapping around Axel's body, digging nails into his shoulders. Teeth on bone, awakening jolts of painful bliss in his blood, rushing sound in his ears as his veins constrict and his eyes dilate, mouth open in wild abandonment.

Axel moves up in an ungraceful surge, slick wetness across Demyx's cheek, tongue playing insistently with his mouth, tracing their outline before dipping in to sample Demyx's taste.

The jolts increase in intensity, pounding in his stomach, knot of heat condensing, and with a volition all its own, Demyx's tongue answers the invader's. It is a battle of sorts, a battle of dominance that Demyx loses willingly, glad to be ravished with such perfection. Lips cover his own in suffocating demand, alternating between light brushes and masculine need, and he wallows in it.

One anguished moan escapes, and that is when Axel knows. He smirks, powerful tool of seduction, and then lifts Demyx up, waist nearly out of the water, droplets flinging in all directions.

He has legs now, and without having to be told, he wraps them around Axel's thin waist, ankles locking together on his back. Axel lowers Demyx slowly, gradual buildup in a dance of sex and lust. Slowly, bit by bit, Axel enters him, and Demyx falls onto a hard heat of pleasurable impalement.

There is no pain. Why should there be pain when he is water and can change to fit any vessel accordingly?

And then Axel begins to move.

Light becomes a pinprick, and the edge rushes up, and he is almost there, just one more thrust, one more deep stroke reaching into depths unknown, so close, almost there…

And Axel stops moving. Demyx chokes back a cry, body stiff and awkward, needing.

And then he starts all over again.

Climax does not take long to achieve. Hours and minutes have no place here in this world of water. The edge comes closer, nerves almost shot, but Axel lets him implode upon him, one long wave of immense pleasure blinding Demyx's eyes, a spiraling descent paved in sin, and that makes it all the more sweet.

Demyx awakens with a start, water splashing around him. He lies in a puddle atop a building made of stone, arm and legs thrashing as ghost feelings plumb his body.

The tides of the moon come and go, and now he is empty.

:-o-O-o-:

I am a weird human being. One day this will all come back to haunt me.

Read and review to make Demyx even more wet, pun fully intended.


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